September 11, 2009
If I had to wager a guess, my posting will be really sporadic for the next month or two. I'm just completely wiped out, you guys.
I don't remember feeling this way with James, but then again, by the time I was 36 weeks I had quit my horror show of a job and my life consisted of leisurely trips to Target and afternoon walks around the park--seriously.
I didn't have a 4-year-old spewing on his walls at 3 o'clock in the morning (happened last night), a 4-year-old to lift in and out of grocery carts (listen, I'd let him walk, but the kid steals things), and I most definitely didn't have work meetings at 6 o'clock on a Friday night (bitter doesn't even begin to describe it).
My hat goes off to moms of 3 and 4 and 19 kids. They deserve all the liquor and sexy naked man calendars that this fine world has to offer.
Yesterday afternoon, when James got home from school, I declared that we would take a walk to the nearby Post Office. It's only about .7 miles from our house, and my intention was to teach James how to count the envelopes, ask for stamps, pay, and get change--all while using his very best manners. I would collect my Mother of the Year award as we happily waltzed out the door.
Well, we arrived at the Post Office approximately 3 minutes after the van from the local assisted living facility, and I was in rugged shape--temped to take a drag or two off their oxygen tanks if you know what I mean. Needless to say there were at least a dozen seniors (bless their pace-makers) waiting in line for stamps, agonizing over the bears, the balloons, or the flags when it was finally their turn.
Folks, I simply couldn't handle it.
So guess what I did...
I planted my big, fat ass on a bench next to the picture window that looks into the lobby, gave James his "Son, It's High Time You Become an Independent Man" speech a few years early, and sent him in to brave the line all by himself.
I scratched my crotch and supervised through the plexiglass--as any good mother would.
Well let me tell you, James was the undisputed belle of the ball. The seniors Ohhhhed and Ahhhhhed and rubbed his curly hair over and over again. He made a lot of casual conversation with our elderly neighbors who all (I kid you not) loitered in the lobby to watch him order the stamps, and clapped (CLAPPED!) when he did so successfully.
I swear to high heavens, if they had had the proper equipment (and were in good enough cardiovascular health), they would have hoisted him up in a throne and paraded him around like one of those native African princes.
After James took his bow, they filed out of the Post Office--with their canes and walkers and osteoporotic backs--all wearing gigantic goofy grins across their faces. As they inched back to their van most of the group stopped to thank me for sharing my son with them, and complimented me on being an excellent mother for raising such an independent and confident young boy.
I was like, "Really? I'm just huge and slow, and I only sent him in there because my nether regions are friggin' killing me! Thank you, thank you, thank you for not calling CPS."
Because of the overwhelming positive response, I've decided that today, I'm sending James in to buy the 40 pound bag of dog food while I wait in the car. He's a very determined young man, so we'll see how it goes.
And tomorrow? The financial planner.
School Boy
September 8, 2009
I think I forgot to mention that James started school a little while back. In our neck of the woods the public schools have a half-time PreK program, so James is officially taking the bus and I'm officially getting boatloads of solicitations to serve on the PTA.
I'm like, "Sure, I'll be on the PTA, but you've gotta understand that I steal t-shirts, I nurse in public, I don't do fundraising, and it wouldn't bother me one damn bit if the Captain Underpants series was a permanent part of the curriculum."
I'm not sure on this, but it seems as though the president forgot to add my name to her email list. Huh.
Anywho, James is loving school. He seems to have found his soulmate/BFF in a skinny little kid named Isaiah, and has developed an undeniable man crush on this bus driver, Rusty. And really now, who can blame the kid? James is four and Rusty DRIVES A FRIGGIN' BUS--it's a match made in heaven if I've ever seen one.
Today, when James got home from school, I said, "So how'd you do today buddy?"
And he answered with, "Mom? You know that lady with the really big body? She has a funny voice and she's always asking me questions?"
"James," I said sternly, "I sure hope you're not talking about your teacher that way."
"No Mom," he assured me, "I'm talkin' about you! You ask me too many questions."
Well goodness, I can hardly believe how much he's learned in a week!
I think I forgot to mention that James started school a little while back. In our neck of the woods the public schools have a half-time PreK program, so James is officially taking the bus and I'm officially getting boatloads of solicitations to serve on the PTA.I'm like, "Sure, I'll be on the PTA, but you've gotta understand that I steal t-shirts, I nurse in public, I don't do fundraising, and it wouldn't bother me one damn bit if the Captain Underpants series was a permanent part of the curriculum."
I'm not sure on this, but it seems as though the president forgot to add my name to her email list. Huh.
Anywho, James is loving school. He seems to have found his soulmate/BFF in a skinny little kid named Isaiah, and has developed an undeniable man crush on this bus driver, Rusty. And really now, who can blame the kid? James is four and Rusty DRIVES A FRIGGIN' BUS--it's a match made in heaven if I've ever seen one.
Today, when James got home from school, I said, "So how'd you do today buddy?"
And he answered with, "Mom? You know that lady with the really big body? She has a funny voice and she's always asking me questions?"
"James," I said sternly, "I sure hope you're not talking about your teacher that way."
"No Mom," he assured me, "I'm talkin' about you! You ask me too many questions."
Well goodness, I can hardly believe how much he's learned in a week!
Thirty Days Out and Wretched as Ever
September 8, 2009
I have exactly one month to go until my due date and let me tell you, all bets are off. I'm pissy, I'm cranky, and I'm wearing sweatpants to the office for the rest of this pregnancy. If anyone has anything to say about that, I'll cry and cry and wipe my nose all over their shoulder--all the better if it happens to be on something that's dryclean only.
If I had to wager a guess, there's almost nothing as awkward as a gigantic, hormal officemate asking you to rub her hair and tell her she looks pretty while her face is coated in nice, warm snot--so let's just hope it doesn't come to that.
I swear to the high heavens, unless I'm hearing words like, "Here's a chocolate pudding cup," or "Here's an unmarked bag of money," or "I stuffed your husband in the trunk of your car for you at no charge," I want absolutely no part of it.
I asked Jared to move out this past weekend.--just to his mother's house, and just for thirty-or-so days. And do you know what? That heartless fool had the nerve to say no. Right to my bloated face.
Not smart, honey. At this point, you've gotta give the big girl everything she asks for--and then back away slowly.
That's all.
I have exactly one month to go until my due date and let me tell you, all bets are off. I'm pissy, I'm cranky, and I'm wearing sweatpants to the office for the rest of this pregnancy. If anyone has anything to say about that, I'll cry and cry and wipe my nose all over their shoulder--all the better if it happens to be on something that's dryclean only.
If I had to wager a guess, there's almost nothing as awkward as a gigantic, hormal officemate asking you to rub her hair and tell her she looks pretty while her face is coated in nice, warm snot--so let's just hope it doesn't come to that.
I swear to the high heavens, unless I'm hearing words like, "Here's a chocolate pudding cup," or "Here's an unmarked bag of money," or "I stuffed your husband in the trunk of your car for you at no charge," I want absolutely no part of it.
I asked Jared to move out this past weekend.--just to his mother's house, and just for thirty-or-so days. And do you know what? That heartless fool had the nerve to say no. Right to my bloated face.
Not smart, honey. At this point, you've gotta give the big girl everything she asks for--and then back away slowly.
That's all.
Babymoon
September 4, 2009
Did I mention that Jared and I are on a little babymoon?
I'll catch you all when we get back.
Did I mention that Jared and I are on a little babymoon?
I'll catch you all when we get back.
The Get Real Gallery
September 2, 2009
Ta da! Twenty-something reasons to help you feel a little more normal today. Thanks for all of your participation, I love you guys!
I had to laugh at my old college roomate's comment. She was like, "Sorry, I can't participate in this one, I'm a total neat freak."
And I was all, "I know. Remember when you made that cute sign that said, 'Don't Forget to Wash the Dishes,' and I accidentally dropped in it a bowl of tomato soup and left it that way for two weeks?' You were really mad at me."
Anywho, without further ado I bring you many, many fabulous links:
Vanessa shares here mini-mess with us here.
Jane on the other hand, gives us the full monty.
Chelle gives us a tour of her place.
Mindy's house here.
Here is M.A.'s. Don't laugh. (I'm just quoting her)
Those cobwebs made me smile from ear to ear--because we have matching ones!
Mel B is keeping it real.
Pam's not afraid of a little honesty.
Leila graces us with some beauty pictures.
And then there's Mrs. Furious, who's never afraid to share her sh*t with the world.
You can peek inside my #1 fan's house here. (I have to say things like that, she's unstable.)
Life with the Grovers looks a lot like this.
Meet Bloggin' Betty. She is special.
Turtle keeps one heck of a normal shell.
We have matching playrooms--except mine had dark faux-wood panelling and hers doesn't. Peasant.
Sarah says this will be better after her kids go back to school. That rule doesn't apply to me.
Sami's not afraid to tell it like it is.
Deb has two washers and two dryers! Now that's just crazy. At least her heart is in the right place.
Honestly Rachel, not bad at all for having four kids!
Why lie? Kim needs a maid. Apparently we all do.
Lyndsie gets an A+ for folding. She's still working on the 'putting away' part.
And then there's my mother, who doesn't really understand what 'messy' means.
I also have some good pictures of Cat's office, but my computer refuses to let me share her mess with you. Just close your eyes, and picture a nice, stiff wind not-so-gently blowing through your computer room. There.
If I missed anyone, let me know...
Ta da! Twenty-something reasons to help you feel a little more normal today. Thanks for all of your participation, I love you guys!
I had to laugh at my old college roomate's comment. She was like, "Sorry, I can't participate in this one, I'm a total neat freak."
And I was all, "I know. Remember when you made that cute sign that said, 'Don't Forget to Wash the Dishes,' and I accidentally dropped in it a bowl of tomato soup and left it that way for two weeks?' You were really mad at me."
Anywho, without further ado I bring you many, many fabulous links:
Vanessa shares here mini-mess with us here.
Jane on the other hand, gives us the full monty.
Chelle gives us a tour of her place.
Mindy's house here.
Here is M.A.'s. Don't laugh. (I'm just quoting her)
Those cobwebs made me smile from ear to ear--because we have matching ones!
Mel B is keeping it real.
Pam's not afraid of a little honesty.
Leila graces us with some beauty pictures.
And then there's Mrs. Furious, who's never afraid to share her sh*t with the world.
You can peek inside my #1 fan's house here. (I have to say things like that, she's unstable.)
Life with the Grovers looks a lot like this.
Meet Bloggin' Betty. She is special.
Turtle keeps one heck of a normal shell.
We have matching playrooms--except mine had dark faux-wood panelling and hers doesn't. Peasant.
Sarah says this will be better after her kids go back to school. That rule doesn't apply to me.
Sami's not afraid to tell it like it is.
Deb has two washers and two dryers! Now that's just crazy. At least her heart is in the right place.
Honestly Rachel, not bad at all for having four kids!
Why lie? Kim needs a maid. Apparently we all do.
Lyndsie gets an A+ for folding. She's still working on the 'putting away' part.
And then there's my mother, who doesn't really understand what 'messy' means.
I also have some good pictures of Cat's office, but my computer refuses to let me share her mess with you. Just close your eyes, and picture a nice, stiff wind not-so-gently blowing through your computer room. There.
If I missed anyone, let me know...
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